


Cold walls

by takarter



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, F/F, First Christmas, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Holidays, Kara Danvers Needs a Hug, Lena Luthor Needs a Hug, Light Angst, Strangers to Lovers, They're both sad but they're also okay, kinda? i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28175211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takarter/pseuds/takarter
Summary: “I shouldn’t be here,” she whispers quietly. She knows Lena will take it to mean the coffee shop, or here with her, right now, and it’s not even any less true. It’s sickening how much she can hide behind even bluntness.Or, Kara comes to earth much later than is canon and celebrates her first, slightly overwhelming, Christmas.
Relationships: Alex Danvers & Kara Danvers, Kara Danvers & Lena Luthor, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 94
Collections: Supergirl Femslash Secret Santa 2020





	Cold walls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancedance_resolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancedance_resolution/gifts).



> I haven't written anything in what feels like ages, so this was kind of a struggle. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Happy holidays!! :)

“And today we learned that Alex cannot be trusted with flour–” 

“–that Sam needs to shut up.” Alex interrupts, though there is no malice in her voice, just a grin and the perpetual air of teasing she never seems to be able to quite get rid of. Not ever, especially not around Sam. 

Her gaze is on Kara, who is watching the scene in front of her in silent amusement, then wonders what happened to Alex’s apartment. The space, usually tidy and scarcely decorated, is now barely recognizable, in a state Kara’s never seen before. A concoction of lights and cinnamon, of music that, Alex has explained to her, is distinctly  _ Christmas music _ , for some reason, and Kara takes it all in before she dares to move. She’s amused most of all by the  _ tree  _ standing in the corner, as she’d thought that particular decoration detail to be a joke, when Alex had explained it all to her some weeks ago – when Kara had first asked her about the red-clad men in shopfronts and scaling house walls. It looks pretty enough, she has to admit. 

And Alex, who Kara has categorized in her mind as neat and barely caring about  _ tradition,  _ is now no more than an indistinguishable human figure underneath a mountain of flour. She really hadn’t imagined the act of baking, what she assumes will eventually be Christmas cookies, to be this messy, but she can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous they both look. 

Kara, nose and cheeks reddened by the cold, takes off her scarf, wet with fog and what is not-quite-yet snow, and understands a little more, step by step into the cozy apartment, why humans like this season so much. She sinks down onto the couch as the music engulfs her, the smell too, and not a minute later Alex has to stop her from dipping her fingers into the bowl of dough, fend her off from trying a cookie that does not yet have any icing on it. Kara’s glad to see that Alex is still stuck-up in  _ some  _ regards, at least, even as she’s busy grinning sweetly at her girlfriend and looking like an absolute idiot. 

As she looks around the room Kara is glad to find some comfort in the new decoration. Red and green are crass, overwhelming – in Kara’s opinion not even pretty or  _ fitting  _ –, but the lights in Alex’s apartment, though plentitude, are warm and soft. So is Kara, surrounded by them. 

Her family, she thinks, are two idiots covered in flour, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

//

Winter, when not enveloped in warm apartments and friendly people and delicious sweets, is different. Is harsher, though not less welcoming. The cold air is comforting, even, the streets dark and empty. It’s early, still, but most people seem to prefer the aforementioned comfort to the scraping of shoes on slightly wet asphalt, the almost intense smell of oncoming snow. Kara, for one, is awake, focused, as she stands and looks at the clear sky, the stars, not worried someone might bump into her on the usually busy street. She’s had a nice evening, she always does at her sister’s, but it’s still easier to breathe now. And she does, inhales, exhales the sharp pain. 

It’s taken her less time to get used to  _ this  _ than to other things, since coming here merely months ago. The weather makes sense to her, despite being unpredictable in ways. Still less so than people, however, and so she enjoys her walk and the silence, her own especially, lips only open to breathe out what looks like fog. 

It’s fascinating, really. Winter. Earth. 

She looks towards the easy things, to seasons and science, to astrophysics and, well,  _ everything,  _ to reflect upon what she has learned in her time here. About people and how they work. About the little glimpses of Alex she got, piece by piece, before she managed to form a whole person in her mind. Like snowflakes, fragile and pretty, turning into solid sheets of white. Still beautiful, but a hassle, too. Kara looks around as she continues to walk, spots a snowman, halfway molten again despite the cold, and grins. Like snowflakes, forming something odd and misshapen and utterly charming. 

Kara doesn’t think she’ll love anything like her planet, doesn’t think she’ll love anything on this one quite like things she can _comprehend,_ but there’s something special about the incomprehensible human that has taken her in, explained to her the meaning of family and then made Kara a part of hers. It’s thanks to her that she has been thriving, despite everything, despite her losses, on this faraway planet with words which have been easy to learn but hard to understand, with traditions that have been _impossible_ to make sense of.

There’s something lonely about these streets, now that Kara thinks about it, speeds up, about being in a room – on a planet – full of people and pretending to get it, too. To get it like they do. 

Kara sighs. This is what Alex means when she pokes Kara’s forehead and tells her to stop. To do something else but think, to take her mind off it. Kara looks up, face now illuminated by the warm glow of the thing to take her mind off it. The coffee shop with its cozy cushions and nice people and other things to think about. Other people to watch and conversations to listen to, and the tables to provide space for the books in her backpack, for her coffee and the piece of cake she gets on the house and then pays back in tips. 

The lady behind the counter nods at her in recognition and offers a hello but no festive phrases, her words as empty of Christmas as the entirety of the tiny place. Kara sighs once more before she wanders over to her usual spot and buries herself in the pages. It’s not the kind of place to talk, she thinks, it’s one to read and watch and be by yourself, and somehow everyone else seems to think so too. 

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” Kara looks up. Well, _almost_ everyone. She doesn’t recognize the woman standing over her – she’s the only person present right now Kara’s never seen before –, dark hair and wrapped tightly in warm clothes just like Kara’d been when she first got here not too long ago, pointing towards the chair opposite of her. Kara tries to figure out her expression, fails first and then thinks _hesitancy_. “I usually like to sit here.” 

The woman waits a second, perhaps expecting an answer Kara is too dumbfounded to come up with, then speaks again just as Kara does find the words after all. 

“Best view of the window,” they both say at the same time, their following smiles just as simultaneous. 

Kara feels an odd sense of calm even as the other woman sits down in front of her, the sudden company new but not as unwelcome as she’d previously thought it might be. Kara likes being around people, though she prefers to observe over participating, prefers for it to be quiet. Fortunately enough the new presence doesn’t seem to want to string her into a conversation, seems to prefer the absence of words, too, and yet somehow, by the end of the evening – the first of many – Kara knows that her name is Lena, and that she likes tea more than coffee. That she came here for the window and the silence, just like her. It’s not a lot, but Kara realizes it’s the most she may have ever known about a not-quite stranger.

//

During this festive season, her first one, Kara finds herself visiting the coffee shop more than ever. It has its appeals in summer, quite certainly, and the people barely change no matter the weather outside, but there’s a different kind of comfort to it in the complete dark of an afternoon. 

There is one change, however, though Kara doesn’t suppose it’s got anything to do with the weather. Doesn’t suppose it’s got to do anything with her being here more often either. Kara hasn’t figured out a routine to Lena’s presence yet, can’t ever predict whether or not she’ll show up, but it’s certainly not why she’s watching the window more than ever. It’s the snow, really, piling up higher and higher as the weeks go on. 

She never waits – never  _ hopes  _ – for Lena to show up, but when she does Kara greets her with a smile. When she does, Kara feels relieved in a kind of way she hasn’t known before. Kara doesn’t know her, and yet on her table, messy with books piled high and pieces of paper and way too many pens, she leaves space. Her mess doesn’t cross the arbitrary line of some hypothetical other person’s space, taking the seat opposite of her, but she’s never  _ waiting.  _

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” Lena asks, mirroring their very first encounter. She always does this, always with a glint in her eyes, always daring Kara to play along. Kara does, of course. There’s something exciting about talking – about having  _ inside jokes –  _ with someone she doesn’t consider family. There’s something exciting about Lena, the way they play off each other. “I usually like to sit here.” 

“Best view of the window,” Kara replies. They’ve rehearsed this many times, but Kara’s smile accompanying the words is never not genuine. 

It’s how she first notices something is wrong. Lena’s smile isn’t as genuine, not today, and her hair is just a touch out of place, her eyes tired. Kara almost feels a flush creep up her neck, for noticing these things, little subtleties she guesses Lena might think no one will. Because her smile is still there, almost convincing, and she’s starting the conversation as though nothing is out of place. 

“You look sad.” Kara doesn’t know why she says it, interrupts Lena even, but she never quite knows how not to. 

Lena halts in the middle of her sentence, taken aback. Her smile grows stronger as she replies, though not more convincing in Kara’s eyes. Not in Lena’s, either, her upturned lips the only indication of happiness. “I’m not.” 

Kara considers that for a second, studies Lena. Again notices the things she notices and wills herself to stop. She doesn’t even know Lena, not really. And yet she sees something else there too, as she fails to stop. “Just upset, then.” 

The lack of an answer is not the only indication that Lena doesn’t want to talk about it, but there is something else, too, that Kara thinks she can see. A resignation, of sorts, perhaps the conviction that no one ever _would_ ask her about it, and so she’s closed herself off to the possibility, not giving anyone the chance to. Kara pushes softly, ready to accept any further rejection. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Perhaps to her own surprise, Lena sighs, then answers. “I don’t know you.” 

Kara nods softly, understands. They meet and smile and sit together in comfortable silence, but they don’t talk. Not like this. But still, Kara finds herself disagreeing. It’s perhaps a faulty measure, applied by someone who’s only come to earth, has only encountered humans some months ago, but Lena is one of the few Kara’s made a connection with, and surely that has to count for something. 

“Well… ,” she begins, thinking. Is this too much already, what she’s about to say? Is she pushing it? “You know that I come here. You know that this is my favorite seat, you know my favorite drink. You know the books I read. I… not many people know these things, you know.” 

Lena sighs once more, takes a sip of her drink. For a while Kara thinks Lena will not answer, will get up and leave perhaps. They really don’t know each other. But then Lena closes her eyes, whispers, “it’s winter”. 

Kara looks out of the window, looks  _ at  _ the window, more like. A scene of white flurry, of dulled headlights and barely distinguishable human forms, painted upon the glass. It should feel confining, like they are trapped here, somehow. It’s all but that, instead sheltering. It’s warm in here, as always, in more ways than one. It’s comfortable, and there is  _ something  _ between her and Lena now. She’d like to stay here, if she could, away from the rest of this planet. 

“I can tell”, Kara smiles, glances again towards the window, watches the outside world for a second. People, cars, snow, all moving frantically. This is more like Christmas, as she feels it. 

“That means Christmas.” 

“Yes. I’ve learned it’s supposed to be a really joyous time.” 

Lena looks at her, as though detecting something odd. About the phrasing, perhaps about her. Kara is supposed to be discrete about these things,  _ needs  _ to be discrete about them. But there’s something she likes about the way Lena looks at her now, as though trying to figure her out. Kara would like her to, she realizes. For the first time since coming here she’d like someone to  _ know _ . 

Lena lets it go – for now –, smiles. “I don’t celebrate.” 

_ I don’t either,  _ Kara wants to say. But she does. Now. There are multitudes of reasons, of  _ human  _ reasons, why she wouldn’t, but she can’t draw attention to these things.

“My… my family celebrates. My sister and her girlfriend. My um… my parents too.” It shouldn’t be hard to say, not anymore. They  _ are  _ her family now, all of them. But it is. In here, for some reason, with Lena, it’s hard. As though there’s the option, for the first time, to just say something else.  _ Forget the protocol, say something true. _ “It’s nice.”

And Lena, figuring her out, asks, “is it?” 

Kara swallows, nods, smiles. Grabs her cup and sets it down again, holds it and lets it warm her hands. “It’s overwhelming.”

Lena snorts, and Kara realizes for the first time that Lena usually doesn’t laugh like this. Part of her wants to say more stupid things so she won’t stop, but Lena’s already back to stirring her tea. A ghost of a smile still on her lips, one that Kara counts as a personal win. 

“We used to celebrate,” Lena begins, just as Kara’s accepting her not opening up. “Before things… well, now they can barely pull themselves together for even just  _ one  _ peaceful evening. I’d rather just not think about it.” 

Kara nods as she takes it in, takes in Lena and the way she seems to regret her words already. Kara wants to say that she understands, that she too would rather not ever think about any of this, that it’s nice to have someone who shares even just some of her feelings. Before she can do so, however, Lena adds, “ I’ve never told anyone. Talked about any of this, actually.” 

Kara’s not entirely surprised by the admission, though she  _ is  _ by the way her body reacts to it. There should be no reason for her heart to beat this fast, her cheeks to heat up. It’s a serious conversation, Kara shouldn’t – she shouldn’t think about it. 

“Well, it’s not like there’s anyone I could tell.” 

“Your family?” 

At that Kara finally does blush, shaking her head softly and grinning. If only she could explain properly. What all of this means to her, this coffee shop and Lena specifically, and how she’s not even supposed to be here. How she probably shouldn’t be talking to her but has found it to be the nicest thing to happen since the first snowfall. “I couldn’t. You’re… you’re my secret, I suppose.”

And Lena looks like someone who hadn’t expected to be Kara’s secret, like she hadn’t previously considered she could be  _ anything  _ to Kara. And she still looks so sad. 

For a moment Kara has the foolish idea to offer Lena to stay with  _ her  _ family for Christmas, and then she remembers that they don’t know each other, and that sometimes she’s not sure she even wants to be there herself. 

//

And suddenly it’s really nice having a secret, one that Kara can talk to and spend silent afternoons with. Someone around whom she has to play human only to a certain degree. She could, certainly, make more of an effort to hide who she is. She  _ should.  _ But she has months of that behind her and decades of it to come, and so she bothers only  _ just enough.  _

Secrets, she finds, don’t have to be a bad thing. Hiding can be fun, even, when Alex grins at her and shares a conspicuous smile with Sam, and asks, “were you at the coffee shop again?”

It’s nice to have something that she doesn’t have to share with either of them, something that’s hers. 

Kara’s told them about the coffee shop, of course, long ago. She hadn’t been able to stop gushing about it after first discovering the little place, and how cozy it was. They know she goes there, and they’ve certainly noticed she goes there more often now, but no matter how much they prod, when telling them about her afternoons, she always leaves out one certain detail. 

“You’re hiding something from us, aren’t you?” Sam chimes in, delighted. She loves this, they both do. It’s a bit sad to admit, but Kara knows they’re both happy she has finally started to live her own life, even if just in small doses. They understand how hard it must be, but they also really don’t. For some reason, though the idea is nonsensical, Kara feels like Lena might. 

“I’m not,” Kara says, finally takes off her coat and blushes as she gets comfortable on the couch, under their watchful eyes. She  _ could  _ tell them. They’d be happy for her, certainly, and they wouldn’t even tease her about it if she asked them not to. She could, really, and in a way it feels wrong not to. She’s told them most everything since becoming a part of their little family, and yet doesn’t want to now. Not this time. 

She just smiles instead. 

“An admirer, perhaps?” They’re teasing now, and Kara can’t help but mirror their grin. They’d certainly like that, she knows, but even if she wanted to, she couldn’t tell them if they’re right in their assumption. She doesn’t know what Lena is, not really, though the notion that she doesn’t know  _ her  _ is a ridiculous one by now. They’ve spent too much time together for that, had too many conversations, though soft-spoken and hesitant and only in the sheltering confines of that one coffee shop. 

So Kara knows her now, maybe, – couldn’t say if Lena feels the same – and still she says, “no, just hot chocolate.” 

// 

They usually don’t leave together. Lena leaves first, most afternoons, with the excuse of work and a million other things to do. She’ll apologize politely and Kara’ll crack bad jokes about her being a busy woman, and will always manage to sneak in some concern about Lena overworking herself. But Lena will leave nonetheless, not take the bait and stay just a few minutes longer, then turn around again to smile at Kara just as she steps out of the door and into the cold. 

Kara never minds being left alone. Those few hours with Lena are enough, and sometimes those few more quiet minutes before she leaves herself, before she gets back to Alex’s, are needed for her to get a grip on herself. She’ll usually leave the shop flustered. 

On days where even the shop is too loud for Kara to focus on her studying, she’ll be the one to leave early. She’ll bundle up as Lena watches her and grin and wave like an idiot as she steps outside. 

So they don’t leave together, except for when they finally do. 

It’s later than usual, much later. It gets dark early in winter and Kara has noticed it getting dark earlier and earlier as the months went on, but this kind of dark, announcing the approaching night, is different. And yet they only notice it once there’s a comfortable lull in their conversation, one that had gone on for hours. It’s easy to lose track of time in here, and in Lena’s eyes too. Kara hates the thought, blushes at it, but can’t deny that there’s some truth in it either. 

Not only is it the first time they leave together, it’s the first time they see each other outside. In the real world. All bundled up and nervous they step outside, together this time, and what they expected to feel awkward just feels oddly normal and comforting. Their conversation doesn’t suddenly halt, their smiles don’t falter. Despite the cold and their shallow breathing as they inhale the freezing air, there’s nothing different about this. 

Well, that and the way Kara’s stomach flutters as their cold hands brush against each other’s, again and again. There’s no reason for them to walk this close, really, but they don’t move away from each other either. 

Kara’s breath hitches slightly when Lena finally,  _ finally,  _ takes her hand for real, does the thing Kara’s not been brave enough to even think about it. And it feels nice. Feels like the warm and cozy air inside buildings in these cold winter months, feels like their afternoons. 

And just like that their conversation quiets down too, and suddenly Lena comes to a halt. And with her Kara, their hands still intertwined, and the sudden movement drawing extra attention to them, their cold fingertips and the warmth that still spreads out from each other’s touch, through their entire being. 

Kara’s gaze rests on them for a while – she smiles – and then shyly wanders up to meet Lena’s eyes. It’s dark, it’s night, but the shop windows and the moon spend enough light to draw attention to Lena’s reddened cheeks, to illuminate her eyes. Kara can’t help but fixate on Lena’s lips, slightly open, breathing out mist that catches the reflection of the multitude of lights around them. Kara swallows, hard. 

She doesn’t know  _ how  _ it happens, if she takes a step forward – one, then two, three –, or if Lena pulls her closer. But suddenly there’s the rough exterior of the wall of some building underneath her fingertips, slightly damp from the snow, and she realizes Lena is about to be backed up against it. Lena is looking at her as she hits the wall with a soft  _ thump,  _ and suddenly hesitancy gives way to frantic, nervous movement. 

Before Kara knows it they’re kissing, softly at first, then sharing the cold air as they breathe hard, unable to get enough of each other’s lips. Kara’s hands are still on the wall, her palms pressing up against them now. It’s grounding, in a way, something to focus on as to not completely lose herself. She moves them eventually, finally cups Lena’s jaw, neither of them paying any mind to how wet her hands are, how cold. Lena leans into the touch, moans softly, grabbing the front of Kara’s jacket and pulling her closer – 

Kara takes a step back. 

They don’t say anything, just look at each other. Out of breath, barely taking note of the now heavy snowfall, of how peaceful and yet threatening the falling flakes look, barely making it to the ground before being swept up again by another gust of wind. Kara only has half a mind to not step forward again, to not kiss her again, to never stop perhaps. 

It takes her a while too, to realize Lena looks worried. Or maybe just cold. 

When Kara moves again it’s to pull Lena close, to take off her own scarf and gently wrap it around Lena instead. Kara doesn't know what to do, but to smile. 

“You look like you’re freezing.” Kara wonders if it’s a stupid thing to say, if it’s a stupid  _ first _ thing to say right after the kiss – and it probably is –, but it makes Lena chuckle softly, and so she once again counts it as a win. 

“It’s okay… thank you for the scarf.” 

“Thank you for… I should go.” Another stupid thing to say, maybe, but it’s true, they both do, and she doesn’t even know where to begin with thanking Lena. Thank you for talking to me. Thank you for spending so much time with me. Thank you for making me feel human and letting me be something else entirely. Thank you for the feeling of a cold wall beneath my fingertips.  _ I think I’d like to feel it again, if you let me.  _

“Me too. Work.” 

“It’s late.” 

“It is.”

They don’t leave, stand rooted to the spot instead. Don’t move until Lena shakes her head and laughs and Kara can’t help but join in. And their eyes meet again. 

“I… I  _ really  _ need to go now, Kara,” Lena whispers, and Kara realizes she likes the sound of Lena’s voice when she smiles. When she whispers her name, too. 

“We’ll see each other then, yes? At the coffee shop?” Kara knows she sounds nervous, can’t do anything about it. This, whatever  _ this  _ is, just changed, and she can’t stand the thought of it changing their afternoons too. 

“Of course.” Soft, the hint of a question.  _ Of course… or do you not want to?  _

“Good.” 

“Good.” 

Kara takes Lena’s hand again, just for a moment, before they finally will themselves to part ways. 

She’s been wondering, on those cold walks towards their coffee shop, then back home again, what Lena’s lips would feel like. How warm they’d be. How soft. 

Turns out she wasn’t prepared. Now that she knows, she thinks those walks might become unbearable. 

// 

Kara walks. There’s even more snow now, drifting in the air, covering the ground, landing on her hair, her face. Kara is wet and the night is getting colder as she walks, and walks. Her plan to go straight to Alex’s had been derailed by a certain moment, a certain feeling, a kiss. Partly Kara is still grinning, still blushing, but she’s also walking. 

Taking this way just slightly longer than her usual route, then stopping to admire what this night has become, the white trees. Turning back and turning again. 

She’s always been able to think better like this, while moving, but even after yet another turn she’s still clueless as to what just happened, how it happened, and no matter how much she walks, she’s still smiling despite it all. The thought of facing Alex like this is scary, just slightly so, but she ends up on her doorstep anyways, eventually. She wills herself to act normal, but she’s an hour late – at least – and she’s wet and cold and Alex looks worried, then relieved, then like something Kara can’t quite place. 

There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, however, that much she can tell, and it’s comforting enough for Kara to pull her sister into a hug – though not before she is being pulled into one – and step inside. 

“Are you okay?” Alex asks as she hands Kara a dry sweater, then moves to prepare a hot chocolate. 

At the mention of it Kara thinks of the one she had this afternoon, thinks of the coffee shop and Lena and blushes. She doesn’t mention it despite Alex’s raised eyebrows. It’s the one thing about Alex that sometimes bothers Kara, how perceptive she is, how well she knows her. 

“I’m okay.” 

“You sure?” Alex’s grin is disarming. “Because you usually don’t spend your nights wandering outside. If you were human I’d be worried about you getting sick. Now I’m just, well…”  _ Worried.  _

“I’m okay, just…” Kara’s fiddling with her hands, looks around the room and avoids the question for now. She’d been too nervous to notice it earlier, but Alex’s apartment has become impossibly more Christmas-themed in the time she’s been gone. More lights, mostly, slightly more obnoxious than the ones already present before. To Kara’s great surprise she finds that she rather likes them. 

It’s dulled by the terrifying feeling of Alex observing her every move  _ like this,  _ but Kara can’t think of anything else she  _ doesn’t  _ like right now. It’s hard to reconcile any feelings of negativity with what just happened, merely some hours ago. She thinks of the kiss and suddenly she loves this, all of it. 

“I like the new lights you put up.” 

And Kara realizes how terrible she must’ve been at hiding her feelings over the past months when Alex merely raises her eyebrows again, looking like she might laugh. “You like them?” 

“Well, they’re kinda nice…”  _ They really aren’t.  _

“Look, I know it can be overwhelming, Kara.” Alex emphasizes the words by gently placing her hand on Kara’s shoulder. “I can’t even begin to imagine what all of this might be like for you.” 

Not sure what to say, Kara shrugs. It’s nice to know Alex understands, though currently it’s the last thing on her mind. 

“Something happened.” Alex finally says when Kara continues not to say anything else, now purposefully bad at hiding how much she doesn’t want to talk about some things. 

“Something happened,” Kara echos back, nods. And then she finally loses whatever inhibition she’s been harboring, can’t help but smile. Can’t help the flush slowly crawling up her neck. She’s thinking about the kiss  _ again,  _ and yes,  _ something happened.  _ She’s been bad at hiding, apparently, so now she stops trying. 

She’s…  _ giddy,  _ that’s the word. It’s been a part of Kara’s vocabulary since the first week she got here, started learning, but this far she’s never had any reason to use it. To even think about it. Certainly not in reference to herself. 

Apparently it’s a contagious feeling, because now Alex is smiling too, looking at Kara as though this development is something she’d been waiting for.  _ Hoping for,  _ perhaps. 

“I’m happy for you.” Kara can tell that she really,  _ truly  _ is. Not that she’d expected otherwise. Though now even the hint of concern seems to be gone, even if just for the time being. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Kara guesses that Alex can tell that she does, and doesn’t, simultaneously, and yet she asks. Kara can’t blame her, would’ve done so herself. It’s the first time she’s met someone, after all. And there’s no question, even without having talked specifics, that Alex knows exactly what is going on here. Perhaps more so than even Kara herself. 

“I…” Kara halts, breathes. She does want to tell her, badly, but there’s another feeling that still persists, dominates. This exciting thing that she wants to share with Alex so badly is also still hers. Hers alone. Her one secret. “I don’t think I do.” 

To Alex’s credit she simply smiles, nods in understanding. And there’s that worry again, Kara can tell. 

“You’re not going to tell her– … them. You’re not going to tell them, are you?” 

Kara lets that slide for now, supposes she really has been bad at hiding things. Not that she’d been trying hard at hiding this particular detail about herself. It simply just hadn’t come up before, but still she isn’t surprised that Alex knows. 

And she shakes her head, though she herself doesn’t quite know what that’s supposed to mean in regards to Alex’s question. She’s a human now and she’s supposed to stay one, even in the presence of people she trusts. Even in front of Lena. But she thinks about the cold wall and Lena’s warm cheeks and realizes it’s a promise she can no longer keep. 

She’ll try, certainly, but there’s this urge to shout it at the top of her lungs whenever she talks to Lena, sees her, merely thinks of her. 

“I don’t know,” Kara finally answers honestly, and Alex pulls her into yet another hug. 

// 

It’s Christmas Eve. It’s cold. Kara doesn’t know where she’s going. 

Doesn’t know what happened, really. The concept of Christmas has started to be a quite enjoyable one those past few days, but then quiet evenings and drinking hot chocolate with Alex had turned into loud voices and even louder laughter and altogether too many people. The Christmas lights are no longer warm, the apartment no longer cozy. Kara hates the smells and the music and the damn  _ laughter  _ and she– 

Needed to get away. Needs to, still, even now as she walks the empty streets. It’s cold, freezing, and it reminds her of that night not too long ago. There’s none of Lena’s warmth now, but somehow Kara feels it with every snowflake that gently lands on her, then adds to the uncomfortable cold. Kara knows this isn’t how you’re supposed to spend Christmas Eve, but she can breathe now and she swears she’ll come back. A break is all she needs, from all of it. 

A walk, that’s all.  _ I’ll be back in a second, I just need, I need–  _ to leave all my friends, my family, behind on an evening so important to them. Need to make it about myself, need to make them wonder if they’ve done something wrong, need to make them worry about me. 

Kara halts, closes her eyes, then looks up at the stars. Spots them between the clouds, sighs, keeps walking. She wants to cry but doesn’t, and the next time she stops she sees a familiar building, familiar lights.

The shop looks the same as always, despite the holiday, and though Kara hadn’t meant to come here, didn’t do so on purpose, she gets why she did. The reasons haven’t changed since she first started to come here. Or maybe they did. But Kara doesn’t expect to see any familiar faces here, or a certain one in particular. Not tonight. 

Kara doesn’t see her until she’s walked up right to the door, and that’s when she decides she won’t go in. Can’t. Her fingers are still trembling, not just from the cold, and for once the freezing cold seems even more sheltering than her favorite place. And she wants to talk to Lena, doesn’t want this to be like any other night, because it isn’t. Far from it, really. 

She hesitates with the hand on the handle, waits for their eyes to meet. Should she go inside? Ask Lena how she’d like a walk in these temperatures? Ask her why she’s here, on an evening like this? Ask her why she’s here  _ too?  _

Kara shakes her head, is about to let this stupid idea go and leave when Lena finally looks at her. Looks surprised, for a second. Lena doesn’t wait for Kara to come in, gets up instantly, putting on her coat and scarf on the way outside. As though this unexpected turn of events is somehow more urgent than anything she’d been up to. Perhaps she’d seen it in her eyes, Kara thinks, her inability to come inside. 

Taking a step back to let Lena out, Kara studies her. There’s a hint of curiosity to be found on Lena’s face, and an infinite amount of concern. And yet she doesn’t say anything, simply takes Kara’s hand and starts walking. Lena’s waiting, Kara realizes, for her to make the first move, whenever she’s ready.

They haven’t seen each other since days, not since that night, the holidays playing into all cards but theirs. 

“I haven’t been avoiding you.” Kara finally breaks the silence. 

Lena smiles. “I didn’t think you were.” 

Kara believes her. But surely that certainty didn’t change anything about the way they missed each other, longed to go back or somewhere else altogether. Together. “I just left my sister’s place. In the middle of dinner. They were all there, my parents, my cousin, and I just – left. I couldn’t, I can’t–” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Lena squeezes her hand tighter. 

“I feel terrible. I shouldn’t – it shouldn’t be such a big deal. I shouldn’t find it so hard. All of it.” 

“I didn’t show up at my mom’s place. They invited me, her and my brother. For the first time in years. And I came here instead.” 

There’s another pause, the only sounds far-away laughter and their footsteps in the snow. It’s so comforting, so soft. Kara wants to cry looking at the illuminated snow, wants to cry at how beautiful it all is. She wants it to suck, wants to hate it. She should long to go back home every second of every day, and instead she revels in the feeling of Lena’s hand in hers and smiles and feels terrible about it. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispers quietly. She knows Lena will take it to mean the coffee shop, or here with her, right now, and it’s not even any less true. It’s sickening how much she can hide behind even bluntness. 

“I’m glad you are,” Lena answers, and it’s sickening how much Kara can read into it. “I didn’t expect you to show up. I mean… not tonight. I wasn’t waiting.” 

“I know. It wasn’t intentional. It was like something inside of me needed to see you.” Kara blushes, though her cheeks are already red. It’s the cold she blames it on, her saying these things. More reckless, somehow, than her many allusions to not being human. 

“Will you go back?” Lena asks. 

“I should. I promised.” Kara sighs, exhales fog and grins, suddenly. “Or maybe I shouldn’t. This is better, you know, than Christmas.”   
  


They’ve reached the park now, the snow piled up even higher there, on the grass. Kara steps into it, and every following one is a struggle. In the most fun way. Kara pulls Lena with her, both equally out of breath after only a few strides, and their eventual stumble, their fall, to be expected. 

They both laugh, loudly, and when Lena makes a move to struggle back onto her feet, Kara pulls her down again and rolls onto her back. Looks up at the stars. 

“Kara!” Lena exclaims, and the former grins. 

“What? Didn’t you say you always wanted to make snow angels?” She’s never quite this sly, this carefree, but it’s easy now in the dark and with no one else around. They’re the only people within miles, the entire park peacefully empty. And really, why would anyone be here? The thought of it is pathetic, being here on Christmas Eve, but it’s different when you actually do it, and get to hold a hand and talk and be yourself. 

“Well, not in the middle of the night!” 

“Picky.” 

“Are you really that desperate for some snow in your face?” Lena’s resting on her elbow, looking down at Kara. Once again it’s just for the moon and the stars and the reflecting snow that Kara can make out her smile at all. 

“Yeah, desperately,” Kara whispers, pulling Lena down already. And if Kara was able to feel the cold more than she does, this kiss would have certainly warmed her up. Slow and soft and nothing like their first one, yet evoking those same feelings in Kara. The ones that make her want to shout. 

Kara keeps her eyes closed when they pull away, takes a deep breath. 

“Look up into the sky,” she whispers, clasping Lena’s hand as tight as she can. This is the worst idea on so many levels, but she’s not promised anything to Alex. Not this. It’s okay. 

“Okay,” Lena whispers back, but when Kara opens her eyes again Lena’s are on her. 

“Cheater.” 

“I’m not sorry.” 

“Bet you aren’t.” Kara looks up, waits until she sees Lena mirror the motion in her periphery. Then she lifts her arm and points at something, at everything. “See this patch there? With the many stars and– yes, there. That little emptiness there? That’s my home.” 

She hears a soft intake of breath, feels Lena move. She closes her eyes, but she knows Lena is looking at her again, not at that emptiness. 

“Please,” Kara whispers, and opens her eyes again only when she knows Lena to be looking up at the sky again. 

“I didn’t think you’d tell me.” 

“You–”, Kara frowns. She’s not quite sure why it’s surprising at all, given the hints, given her inability to act like she should around Lena. “You knew?” 

“I… suspected.” 

It’s when Kara first notices the shiver in Lena’s voice, then her whole body. “Shit! You must be so cold. I’m–” 

“I’m sorry,” Lena cuts in. “For… you probably don’t want to be here. I can’t even imagine…” 

“I want to be  _ here. _ ” Kara reassures her, and for the first time she doesn’t feel like crying just admitting it. Saying it out loud, no less. It feels right, just like Lena does. 

With one swift –  _ strong  _ – movement Kara pulls Lena on top of her, wraps her arms around her body. She hopes the cold is at least a little more bearable like this, than it was before. Hopes Lena won’t get sick because of her. She barely thinks of the confession, of what should have felt like something  _ more.  _ It should have been big and nerve wracking, and it should be so even now. But Lena knows, and is laughing against her shoulder, and somehow it’s okay. 

“We’ll still freeze to death like this, you know.” 

Kara grins at the overdramatic statement, doesn’t mention that she’d never let that happen. She’s done saying dumb things, for tonight at least. “Okay.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated :)


End file.
